


Then peered the indefinite unshapen dawn

by Applesap



Category: The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Antagonism, Friendship, Gen, Post-Book 3: City of Glass, Shell Shock, Simon-centric, War, vampire issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:02:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27994968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Applesap/pseuds/Applesap
Summary: A moment between Simon and Clary post war in Idris. Head filled with images of carnage, Simon makes a hard decision.
Relationships: Clary Fray & Simon Lewis
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	Then peered the indefinite unshapen dawn

The ‘war’, as they call it, waged for three days, although it felt more like one consecutive night. The sky blackened the world, a red scar across the heavens casting it all in a bloody glow as monsters poured out of it, a relentless attack on the city below it eager to push back. Simon doesn’t remember retreating when he noticed Clary was missing from the slaughter to rest. He fought on, caught up in the blood haze, only venturing towards her side again when he felt her presence return to the battle. Simon wasn’t so lucky, finding out just how much of a sleepless creature he apparently has become as the onslaught guided him further. It is disconcerting, how instinctive his jaws had clenched around the throats and limbs of demons, like he knows where it hurts. Their blood cold and vile. Wolves and monsters and demons crawled over and under each other, spilling their miasmic guts over the sopping wet earth as they returned the favor to each other until one side eventually dropped dead.

Rather than the bad blood on his gums, it is the noises that got to him the most. Despite all the confusion and the fighting and shouts and screaming, it remained crystal clear. Through the dust and mud of the battlefield and the blood clotting in the corners of his eyes, he still saw the distance, the rows and masses of creatures facing off against each other. Every detail, all the creases in leather and bloodstains in matted fur and swords and spears glistening and blinding his eyes even though it was so _dark_. The rot that spilled over everything, burning his nose and taste buds until it was all he could taste. And then there was the salt. The inexplicable smell of salt stinging the rims of his wounds like a waft of ocean air, like foam in his nose.

Clary goes missing for a bit longer towards the end. Simon assumes it was her and Jace who saved the day when the demons eventually disappeared, finally letting the fighters collapse with exhaustion as the sky closed up like a stitched wound. It all seemed to pour out of her lately. Bravery, strongly worded opinions, fighting skills. Like plot points in the stories she likes, or a well prepared campaign, all tied up. Beginning, middle, end.

But then there’s what comes after.

He reads about it later. Shell shock. How in the respite between battles the cacophonous bombings were thrown over the soldier’s heads until their brains and bodies shook with sleeplessness and desperation, and how the ones that were able to go home in the end took those shaking bodies with them. He knew about it before, because duh, he goes to school and has never done badly in history class, and it’s a term that comes up every now and then because it’s so well documented. Horrid and dramatic affairs that stuck with him as he crammed the dates they asked in the curriculum. But it’s not really him. His body doesn’t shake into alertness. He feels still, hazed, burning from the inside out with a coldness he needs to fill. Like a statue wanting to move. Did those soldiers feel the hyper awareness? The lingering smells after it was done? Their minds reaching out over the scattered ground and its bodies of burst blood sacks like vultures? Or do humans shy away within themselves? Like statues that don’t feel like moving.

The drumming in his ears of magic explosions and the squelch of swords in meat and the ripping of tendons between his teeth follow him home too, and later he thinks maybe looking it up could comfort him some. It only waged for three days for him. Continuous, yes. But he hasn’t been plagued by bombs for months on end. It doesn’t feel fair to compare.

Idris had been dark with storm and it is light now. Like Idris, New York City doesn’t sleep either.

Someone turns on the lamp in the house at the end of the row. Woman, middle aged, short hair. The window next to her has the blind closed but if Simon squints his eyes he can see through the gaps just a little bit – movement. There’s heartbeats all around him, soft thudding of paws and the clumsy steps of heavy humans, whistling and talking and laughing and coughing. They pull at him. Look at me! Smell me! Don’t you want to come closer and see what I’m doing? There’s music in at least 20 apartments all mixing together, although some radios are put on the same frequency, giving his ears some rest at least–

Oh, he’s being spoken to.

Wait, no. Not him. The person– Clary, in front of him.

He blinks for the first time in two full minutes as his pupils feel like they zoom back into his face. He wonders for a moment if they actually expand or something, because there’s no way that even vampires can look so far into the distance without some body modification happening. Wait. Was he magic?

He’s drifting again.

Clary and Jace are in some kind of conversation while they sit on a bench on the front lawn of the Institute. Simon waits for her outside the gates since it kind of hurts to even look at the church. The gates are technically open, but the invisible line in the cracks of the stone path is so tactile he can’t even hover over it without recoiling. His eyes glance over the line and his stomach gives an instinctive hurl.

He feels poised as he waits, hunching over like he’s about to do something drastic, which feels really awkward as he stands like a creep behind her and Jace who are obviously trying to set up some sort of romantic scene. He straightens his back and forces himself to relax. To focus. His senses resist.

They aren’t talking especially loud, but it feels loud in his ears, like every word is important. He really doesn’t care for the conversation, but now that he’s noticing it he can’t stop listening. Not to the words per se but the sounds of them. The cadence in their voices. Is he staring again? At Jace’s imperfect (ha!) pores and every single curl in Clary’s hair and the freckles on her skin and the dried lines of blood still under Jace’s fingernails even though he smells like three showers in one. It’s hard to focus on one thing at once so he tries to take it all in, which is a mistake. He’s getting dizzy.

The gate doesn’t burn him when he leans against it, so it must be okay for him to do so as he watches the two of them, not following the conversation at all, but paying close attention to how they sound, how they breathe, what their eyes and lips look like as they speak.

_There’s the kiss_ , he thinks when it finally happens. He smiles a little, hoping it marks the end of their epilogue and they can finally go home. He’s happy for her. Really, he is. But also-

It’s been almost a week, maybe more since he was last home. Idris had been a nightmare. He was thrown in jail for no reason at all other than that the Shadowhunters are suspicious as they’ll ever be despite all the ‘accords’ and ‘rules’ set in place. Valentine was a psychopath with mixed priorities. Simon had to fight tooth and nails – literally – with demons for three days straight, and even though he’s now an immortal vampire who technically doesn’t need much sleep anymore, he’s fucking _tired_. And then there’s that symbol he doesn’t know the full power of on his forehead that Clary can’t magic away. He doesn’t just want to _rest_. He wants to be _comatose_. Curl up in bed till the next calendar drops onto his head.

It’s all been a whole bunch of a lot lately, and he doesn’t think he can wait much longer on Clary’s love life. The noise around him pulling on his senses makes him want to explode.

“Clary,” he says, interrupting their longing gazes at each other. Then cocks his head to invite her closer. “I’ve got to go home.”

He says it a little bit too weak for his liking, too close to Jace who will no doubt sense that weakness in him like a bloodhound. Right as rain, there he goes.

"Aww,” Jace says as he stands up with Clary, that perpetual smirk set on his face that tells Simon just how little he wants him around. “Baby's first battle."

And that's the thing that makes Simon snap.

He's been in fights before. He's had broken noses when he was young. By accident maybe, some, and one wrongful punch in his direction Simon’s mom had a strongly worded conversation about with the other kid’s mom. He’s even been in ‘battles’ that ended in him having his bloody wounds seeping through his shredded clothes as the adrenaline dulled the pain under his bruises, and won, if that counts for anything. If a ‘battle’ had been the only problem in Idris, he could’ve dealt with it, seen it coming. Simon has never been in a war. Jace can go fuck himself.

“Didn't you watch your father die just a day ago? How was that for you? Pretty solid ending to that ‘battle’, don’t you think?”

“Simon!” Clary gasps. 

It's mean, and he hates himself for saying it as soon as it's out. And it hits Jace hard. For the first time ever Jace looks taken aback by what Simon has to say. He scowls, his lips pursing up, and there's venom in his eyes.

"I don't know," he taunts. "How _does_ it feel, vampire?"

This surprises Simon a little, the obvious sting against his dad, because he didn't think Jace paid enough attention to his life to know the only parent he’s got left is his mom. It doesn't faze Simon one bit, though. He went to therapy for his issues.

"Bad," he says truthfully, averting his eyes. It takes a moment of quiet anger and consideration before he can trust himself to look at the guy again. Because Jace must be coping too. This can’t have been standard Shadowhunter business. It must be affecting him just as much as Simon. "It feels really bad." He turns away from the scowling Jace, and faces Clary, the only reason why he can stand to be in front of the Institute that whispers to him to drop dead and burn in hell in the first place. It is then that he makes his decision. "I'm done with it, Clary. I've had enough."

"I think we all do," she says with a sigh, the aftershocks of the battle resting on her eyelids too. "See you tomorrow, maybe?"

He's so darn tired. The thought of 'tomorrow' can't be conceived in his mind. It must show in his eyes. That quiet desperation that tells them to leave him alone, because realization slowly breaks across her face.

"I'm not coming back,” he clarifies.

Clary doesn’t need his help, not really. He’s getting tired of telling himself she does. He had been way out of his depth as a human, and becoming a vampire had only made it worse. Always in the way, it feels like. Made him belong even less at her side in her new life. And she will stay in it, he knows this to be true, because Jace is there. And her mom, Luke. All already interwoven and willing to fight in that world with its strange rules they seem to take to like second nature. They understand. But Simon can’t.

He’ll gladly hang out with her, but as a friend, not a sidekick.

“Oh,” she says. “Oh, Simon.“ She looks at Jace next to her. He doesn’t say anything, simply frowns as if he isn’t at all happy that Simon’s finally gonna be gone. There is a curious look in his eyes though. One Simon hasn’t seen on Jace before, he thinks. Like he’s trying to figure him out.

“So I guess this is goodbye,” Simon says, looking into Jace’s eyes. Jace gives him a curt nod, arms crossed. And maybe the hint of a smile, a strangely normal one, whatever that means. He’ll think about it later.

\---

They’re silent as they take the taxi home. Simon to his mom, Clary to Luke’s bookshop. Or rather, Luke and Jocelyn’s bookshop now, he supposes. Clary hasn’t been home since her apartment was attacked, and hasn’t made any mention of returning there to clean up the mess left behind by the fallen Shadowhunter guys or whatever they were. Simon wonders if she’ll ever go back again.

Before they step in, they exchange a tired, but humorous look. Clary still has her wallet, but after all the weirdness of the past week Simon isn’t so lucky. He promises to pay back his share of the fee. Swears by it, even, because the Institute is a long way from Brooklyn and he’s got a feeling the ride is gonna be expensive as hell. Simon can’t contain the deranged grin at that. Clary pulls the biggest ‘yikes’ expression ever.

So she will see him again, is the unspoken thought between them.

In the back seat of the taxi, blissfully separated from the driver by window, they allow themselves to finally puff out. She looks as worn as Simon feels. They lean against each other as the plush fabric accepts their weary bodies, foregoing the restriction of seat belts. It’s not like anything worse can happen to them after Idris - it’s a morbid thought that makes them stare out vacantly in front of them, eyebrows raised as they consider it. Simon actually gets caught up in the noise of the city and loses focus.

“You two really don’t like each other, do you?” Clairy says after a moment of silence.

The roaring of the wheels under them paired with the soft radio music is trying its damndest to distract Simon in a mix of anxious rumbling and accidental ballads, so he forces himself to focus on Clary’s voice.

“What gave you that idea?” he says deadpan.

“I just thought maybe…” She sighs. “I hoped it would just be like, you know, male rivalry or something. Just guys being idiots.”

“Male rivalry?” He quirks an eyebrow, smile on his lips. “Lady Clarissa, have I not fought for you in battle already and proven my worth?”

She giggles, shaking her head. “My liege, my sincere apologies. T’was but a misspoke. Misspeak? Wrong word. I said it wrong. Ugh. You’re also not my liege in this scenario. Fuck.”

He looks at her with amusement. She’s still silly, after everything. Her smile fades quickly though, and she gets quiet.

“I’m sorry I didn’t notice it before.”

“Eh, it’s fine.

“No, Simon. I’m sorry.” She reaches out for his hand, clutching it gently. She’s never done that before, hold hands with him like this. It’s reassuring in a way he didn’t know he could have with a friend. She’s warm and nice, and in that moment all he knows is that whatever happens, he will still be there for her, whatever she needs.

Just not as part of team Shadowhunter.

“Thank you. For sticking around for so long.”

“Duh. Have to scrape me off.”

She smiles, rubs his shoulder with hers and makes a scratching noise, like they’re connected by Velcro. He joins in and soon they’re swinging on the backseat like two drunkards, not wanting to let go of each other. Thank God the taxi driver doesn’t give a crap about them messing around. They give each other a look and laugh about it.

She takes the edge off just a little bit, makes him forget the rotten blood on the back of his tongue for just a moment. Keeps his attention off the road where the engine of the cars roar at him like animals. The silence soon takes over again. It’s all perfectly in line with the regular order of normalcy, but it makes him wanna throw himself out of the window and jump on top of cars to beat their rooftops in and derail them from the road. Why is that his reaction? Attacking cars because they’re too loud? He doesn’t even want to fight, really. He just wants it to stop.

His fingers fidget.

“You okay?” she asks him as his mind races with images and smells.

“Hm,” he replies a second too late. “Not sure. Don’t think so.”

“Yeah, me too,” she says, leaning her head on his shoulder again, holding his hand in hers. She shivers a little despite the unusual warmth of the September morning. It must be because of his skin. He's hungry. “I’m gonna miss you too.”

“Not too much, hopefully? We still have movie night Friday.”

She sits upright. “Oh! So… So you’re not…”

“Nah. I told you, you have to scrape me off.” He grins. “But uh. I really am, uhh- I think I’m done with it. The whole Shadowhunter business.”

“Oh…” She pulls away and looks down at the dirty taxi floor. He can probably name every smell on its carpet, if that weren’t a huge waste of time and focus. “So you still want to hang out, just not…”

‘Not help out’ is probably too mean of an assumption for her to say out loud.

“If you want an ear to talk to, I’ll still be there for you,” he says, hoping it reassures her. Then he takes a deep breath and sighs, a weird sensation in his airless lungs. They sting from inactivity, his body protesting against life. But it’s important he says this in a way she will anticipate is heavy. “But I can’t be with them. I don’t like the Clave. Their whole business. Their rules and the system and their superiority towards everything they think is beneath them. Being put in jail only made it worse. And I can't help but think that, even with _him_ gone, some bullshit like that might happen again.”

It's not just the Shadowhunters. Simon doesn’t like the Downworld either. He doesn’t want to have anything to do with them if he can help it. With the vampires, definitely not. Or the Warlocks. The fae. Werewolves are okay he guesses, because Luke is one, but they’re all part of the same package. He knows he has to interact with them at some point. He still needs to _eat_. And unfortunately for him the Downworld is the most reliable supplier for that if he wants to be safe. Wants to be some semblance of _normal_.

Too much to consider. He rubs his forehead as if that will ease his frustration at all. “And while I was gone I also realized that you don’t need me. Not really.”

It’s a silent plea. He doesn’t want to beg her for it. Please say you understand, that I don’t have to list off everything that’s bothering me. Please tell me you need me, so I won’t feel so bad about what happened to me, that it mattered at all in the end. Please don’t ask me to become friends with people who obviously don’t like me and what I am in whatever form, and whom I don’t like, and who will never like me. Please give me the leisure to be a little bit selfish.

Like a good script, she says, “but I _do_ need you, Simon.”

And he shakes his head. “Not as fighter.” Then he bites his lip, wondering if he should say the next thing, because it sounds so horribly selfish. “ _I_ don’t need that.”

“No,” she agrees, rubbing her hands together in thought. “I couldn’t ask that of you. Not… Not after the battle.”

Battle is a little bit of an understatement. As far as Shadowhunters are concerned, it was a war. Maybe not with all the meticulous planning the longstanding ones have, but still. World changing and bloody. In that, Simon can agree with the Shadowhunters. It had been a slaughter. Simple as that.

He wants to close his eyes, relieved she understands, but that will make the same grizzly events play out in front of him in flashes of gore and violence, forever repeating. The scenes are worse in the dark. He wants sights of the mundane daylight world to burn over them.

“It echoes,” he begins. “It’s like I’m still there. Everything is too much. Screaming at me to pay attention to it. Every noise and sound and smell and taste, and it feels like I’m waking up again in my grave and everything’s so bright and I’m just so-”

Hungry.

He almost swallows his tongue at that.

“Confused,” he settles for.

He stares at her, maybe too intensely, but it’s better than looking out the cloudy window and seeing every little detail in the bricks of the houses they’re passing, waiting for him to count the grains on them so he has something to focus on.

She’s worried. “Simon, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he says.

She pulls him in. A soft hug against his rigid body. He lets her squeeze him, though he doesn’t give way much, despite wrapping his arms around her. It feels nice, her scent against him, warm, comfortable in a way he’s missed this past week. He’s been so alone, and now that he’s alone _with_ her, he doesn’t think he wants to let go just yet, even when he sees the familiar buildings near his home.

The threat of crying balances on the corners of Clary’s eyes when she pulls away, and he can’t have that. He holds her shoulders between his hands and tries to give her a smile that says ‘I’m not okay, but it’s alright’.

“See you soon, Fray.”

“You too, Lewis.”

“If you got the time, of course, what with your busy demon-hunting agenda.”

She huffs at that and rolls her eyes. “I hope I will. There’s always some creep to slay.”

“Maybe I should commit, like, horrible violence to get your attention,” Simon jokes, but as soon as it’s out the humor leaves him. His body is still itching with restlessness and the world is still too loud.

It makes Clary laugh though, and that’s what’s important.

**Author's Note:**

> Intended to be a longer piece about Simon's seperation from the shadowworld(/clave at least) and his struggle to remain human as a vampire, but I'm far too busy with other things at the moment. I actually like this part a lot, though, and I think it works on its own. Might get more chapters (which will, once again, not be Shadowhunter related), but I'll keep it listed as completed for now.


End file.
